


The Lovely Tonight

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, F/M, Grief Sex, Grieving John, Het Slash, Mourning, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Pre-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mary leans back against the pillows, lying down, pulling John with her. In the dim lamplight, her skin is pale, the curves and dips of her body throwing shadows. A trembling sense of hope swells through his body as he bends his head down, nipping at her breast with rough chapped lips.  They kiss once more and then John begins to take her apart with trembling, anxious hands. She moans, her hands stroking a path over his shoulders, down his back as his cock fills. He opens her, fingers pressing soft into her skin, tracing patterns over her lips, dipping into her wet center. Mary whines, eyes closed as he slides down her body, presses a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh. She is soft and sweet as he tastes her, so unlike...unlike Sherlock would have been. <i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovely Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> For more pain, and the origin of the title see this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-H-xXczc9Q). 
> 
> Thanks to [beautifullyheeled](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled) and [TheMadKatter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13) for the angsty, angsty prompt.

 

They stumble into the bedroom, a single light illuminating the space, the sky outside dark and clouded. They strip down at the side of the bed, hands working open buttons. Cotton jumpers slide over heads to pool silently on the floor. Mary steps out of her skirt, arse round and soft as she climbs onto the bed. John pulls the curtains closed, blocking out the London night and joins her, kneeling on the edge of the mattress.

 

Mary leans back against the pillows, lying down, pulling John with her. In the dim lamplight, her skin is pale, the curves and dips of her body throwing shadows. A trembling sense of hope swells through his body as he bends his head down, nipping at her breast with rough chapped lips.  They kiss once more and then John begins to take her apart with trembling, anxious hands. She moans, her hands stroking a path over his shoulders, down his back as his cock fills. He opens her, fingers pressing soft into her skin, tracing patterns over her lips, dipping into her wet center. Mary whines, eyes closed as he slides down her body, presses a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh. She is soft and sweet as he tastes her, so unlike...unlike Sherlock would have been.

 

John closes his eyes at the shot of pain through his heart, at the “what if”, that pops into his head, the idea of lithe muscle and bony ribs resting next to his own. John gasps for breath, choking on too many “should haves”, too many “could have beens.” Mary reaches her hand down, grasping blindly for his and he allows her to pull him. She pulls and he slides up her body, taking her mouth. They kiss like they are addicts, searching for their next fix and in a sense they are, because broken parts attract broken parts in the hopes that they will find the thing that can piece them back together. Searching to fill the wounds that speckle them; to end the ghosts that are inhabiting their souls, bodies, minds.

 

The pull of the search is magnetic, it brings their shattered pieces together, and John and Mary feel the tug. They are broken in the same way, their jagged edges cutting the same patterns, not the opposite scrapes they hope for. But for tonight, they are enough for each other, and John presses into Mary slowly, so slowly, that it is nearly painful. He can feel her heartbeat in her chest as he lays against her body and is stuck with another shadow, another thought. Of the heartbeat that logically would have sounded the same as Mary’s, but in John’s mind had beat fast, the thrum and flutter of a hummingbird, paced the same as the great mind it powered.

 

But Mary; Mary is a fresh breeze, a waft of cool air in the choking humidity left after a summer storm. Her heart beats a steady beat, like waves washing upon the rocky shore. She smoothes away the rough edges, just enough so they no longer show. So they no longer snare the people that sail like ships around John, as he drags them down in their pity, in their empathy, in their empty condolences. Mary moans softly, throwing her head back.

 

John reaches a shaky hand out to trace the cords of her neck, feels the way they are stretched, pulled taut like the strings of a violin.  The feel, the sight brings tears to John’s eyes, as memories flood his mind. He thrusts into Mary, burying his head in the curve of her neck and shoulder as she cries out, begging for release. He hears her, feels her shaky breaths and doesn’t need to look up to see that she is crying. She burns around him, under him, skin like fire licking along the length of his body, burning him as they rock together  He takes his thumb, running it over the dip in her collarbone where her tears are pooling. Mary is crying, and so he allows the tears to slip from his own eyes, to fall and splatter against the linens of the bed, leaving shadowy marks upon Mary’s deep blue sheets. They are dark, and they stand out like blood upon pavement. Like dark curls against blood stained concrete and brick. She drags her fingernails up along his back, trailing his spine, digging into the nerveless starburst etched into his shoulder.

 

They gasp silently along with one another, shuddering sobs released from their throats as they move. Mary’s flat is silent except for the noises they pull from each other. John breathes out slowly, in time with a phantom violin, far away in the London night. Mary arches beneath him, the trill of her cry sharp and grating against his ears, tugging him from the imagined music, shattering the quiet like glass.

 

She is crumpling underneath him, spasming around him and he throws his body up, curling in on himself. Tears tracks stain her face as she pants, her lips red and glistening. His hands grasp the sheets beside her hips and he clings, tight. Mary locks her legs around his thighs, pulling him close as he falls, catching him as he drifts in the aftermath. She smells just so faintly of lilies and musk, and he chokes at the scent of a freshly turned grave and wilting funeral flowers filling his nostrils. He shuts his eyes, holding back the tears that threaten to spring once more, unbidden and unwelcome.

 

Mary buries her head in his chest now, breath slowing, sobs spilling into gentle whimpers. John cannot help the shot of guilt that ripples through him as he rolls to his side, gathering her into his arms. He reaches out, clicks off the light, hiding the salt that crusts his eyelashes, coats his cheeks. It is over, and it is done, and he cannot cry anymore for what should have been. Mary murmurs into his chest, voice choking as she forms words. ‘I had a family once, but they’re gone.’, John understands. His family was an angel who forgot how to fly. Who jumped, forgetting that with every fall must come a landing.

 

John tightens his arms around Mary, and allows the sensation of hope, the longing for more, for better to swell in his chest. He allows himself to relax as the fist clenched around his heart releases, and they drift off to sleep between one breath and another.

 

There is always another tomorrow.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And as always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


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